Dogtown
by Tidia
Summary: Dean & Sam finish a job where Dean has gained the power to heal Sam. They head to Dogtown, a past job that Dean did while Sam was in school and the ramifications of that past job. Angst & action! Please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors: MOG & Tidia**

**Authors' Notes: Welcome to the continuation of Tecumseh. However, you do not have to read Tecumseh to read this fic-- we have added the pertinent info that is needed just in case. Please read and review. This will be posted once a week (giving Tidia a chance to study). We may add author's notes at the bottom when we want to point out some factual information.**

Dogtown

_Voiceover:_ "Previously on Supernatural"

Preface _(From 'Tecumseh')_

Sam scooped up his brother's phone from the nightstand and tossed it to him.

Dean's face registered a surprised smile when he saw the caller ID. He flipped open the phone, throwing out a warm greeting. "Caleb, man, how ya doin'? What's up, where you at?...Palm Springs! Oh, please tell me you did not get some cush. gig in-"

Sam scanned the meager amount of tv channels and could just hear the muffled voice on the other end of the call. His split attention became focused wholly on Dean, however, when he saw his brother's expression change dramatically. He hit the mute button on the remote and watched Dean drop into the worn armchair and stare at the floor, listening.

"Where did you hear this? I mean, are we talking some cheesy rumor website or-" He leaned forward, resting his knees on his elbows. "Jesus Christ, do you really think it's her?….Uh, no, we haven't heard from him in awhile. We're not sure where he's at. But Sam's with me. We're in Oklahoma."

Dean listened for a moment, then looked at his watch. "No, man, we can hit the road tonight….no, look, Caleb, it's cool - I understand. You do what you gotta do there. Me and Sam will check it out…yeah, man, we will. You too. I'll call you when we learn something. Later."

Dean flipped the phone closed but didn't lift his eyes from the floor. Sam waited a few seconds, finally speaking when he realized his brother wasn't going to be forthcoming about the topic of the call.

"What was that about?"

Dean stood and crossed to the bathroom. "Unfinished business." He gathered up the few belongings scattered around the room and stuffed them in his bag of clothes. "I need to go to Massachusetts."

It was evident to Sam that his brother was rattled about something but the younger Winchester knew his sibling well enough to know that Dean wasn't going to talk about it until he was ready. Sam clicked off the television and went about getting his own things together.

"Massachusetts it is," Sam said. He tried to lighten his brother's mood a little and added with a smile, "I was getting bored around here anyway."

Dean stopped what he was doing and stared at his brother. Sam didn't miss the anxious look in his eyes. "Sammy, this isn't like our normal--" he cut himself off, unsure how to explain. "I mean, maybe I can drop you in New York, you could hook up with Sarah."

Sam raised his brows and showed a wry grin. It didn't matter where Dean was headed - he would be with him. "Dude...what do we ever do that's normal?" He caught his brother's eye and fixed him with a determined gaze. "If you're going to Massachusetts...so am I."

Sam saw a little of Dean's uneasiness fade, but his brother just nodded once and zipped shut his bag. Whatever ghosts Dean was about to face - he wouldn't be facing them alone.

Part 1

Amy ran out the back door knowing, even as she slammed it, that her parents wouldn't hear her leave. They were arguing again and the fourteen-year-old refused to listen to the insults and digs they would throw at each other. Pulling her iPod from the pocket of her hoodie jacket, she slipped the tiny buds into her ears. It was spring in the coastal Massachusetts town of Gloucester, but a misty rain and the ocean wind brought a distinct chill. She flipped the hood of her coat over her head and ran, keeping tempo with the music in her ears.

The gravel shoulder of the rural road grew narrower until she veered away from the asphalt and into the wooded acreage of the conservation land. There was no real trail but she didn't care, all she wanted was to distance herself from the echoes of her parents' bitter voices.

Finally, her hard running surpassed her anger and frustration, and labored breath slowed her to a walk. The sunrays of twilight filtered pale shades of gray and gold through the tall pines. At school, Amy had heard the stories about the woods - strange sightings, unexplained sounds, rumors of hauntings.

The branches of the trees created faint spider web patterns on the forest floor and flared her imagination towards what things could be amongst the pines. The endless woods never seemed uninviting when she drove past on the bordering road, yet suddenly they felt claustrophobic. She clicked off the iPod when a feeling of being watched overwhelmed her.

A strange noise, like a hissing whisper, filtered through the trees. She held very still, straining to identify it, but there was nothing - no sound at all. No birds, no frogs, nothing moved. It was an unnatural, uncomfortable silence. Turning around slowly, she tried to ignore her racing heartbeat and began a light jog out of the woods.

A haunting howl broke the silence. Amy whipped her head around, expecting to see the camouflaged gray coat of a coyote. The thought that one or more of the feral canines could be close made her increase her speed, until her breath came in deep gasps. A long winter had made the wild dogs bold in their search for food and recent newspaper reports of coyote sightings fed her racing imagination. She could only picture hungry jaws closing in on a meal.

Over her own heavy breathing, she heard an echoing whisper.

"The toll must be paid."

The rasping voice surrounded her, filling the woods. Through the trees, she saw the familiar black asphalt of the road and tried to push herself harder. Unseen hands whipped the hood from her head, jarring loose the small buds from her ears. She screamed and desperately shrugged out of her jacket as she ran, not caring about giving up the coat or the iPod. She only wanted to reach the edge of the woods, get to the road and away from her invisible attacker.

She could make out the lights of a near-by house across the street and she risked a glance backward, but saw nothing. Swinging her head forward again, a scream was wrenched from her throat as she engaged every muscle she could in order to stop her advancing momentum. A massive black dog stood between her and the road.

Red eyes flashed from its shadowy form and thick saliva glistened on its lips and jagged teeth. Amy let out another scream and the dark attacker growled in response.

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TBC Part 2 


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors: Mog & Tidia **

Part 2

They had packed up quickly, leaving the hotel room in Millerton, Oklahoma less than ten minutes after Dean received Caleb's call. A day and a half later, they crossed into Massachusetts, getting closer to their destination of Gloucester.

Conversation had been minimal. Neither man had broached the subject of Dean's recently discovered ability to heal Sam's injuries, and the older Winchester had yet to give any insight into his 'unfinished business'.

Sam hadn't bothered to ask. Of all the Winchester men, he knew he was the most unguarded and demonstrative – and that sure wasn't saying a lot. Dean fell into the protector role so easily, to the point where he also fiercely protected his own thoughts and emotions. The deeper Dean was affected by something, the less he wanted to talk about it.

So rather than being direct, Sam chose to circumvent his brother and pursue his own method of discovery. He researched, delving into the history of the small seaside town and its surroundings.

Slouched in the passenger's seat of the Impala, he balanced his laptop on his knees and took a sip of his double tall, one pump hazelnut latte.

Dean shot his brother a sideways glance. "Ya know, we're in Dunkin' Donuts territory now. You can get real coffee. You don't have to be getting those pussy drinks anymore."

Sam scanned through a site he'd bookmarked for off-line use and answered without looking at his brother. "Yeah, well, next time you find a Dunkin' Donuts with free wifi, we can stop. Till then, Starbucks works just fine for me. Speaking of which…"

He took another drink of coffee and tapped the laptop's screen. "At our last stop, I looked through the past week's archives of the Gloucester paper. Found this article about an attack on a fourteen-year-old girl that took place the day before Caleb called you. It was buried on, like, page fifteen and it sounds like they're writing it off as a coyote. There **was** this though - 'the girl claimed the animal had red eyes and disappeared once she crossed the threshold of the woods'."

He clicked open a second bookmarked page and scanned the information he'd discovered. "Turns out that area is conservation land - mostly used by hikers and bird watchers - but the locals call it Dogtown. It used to be a farming village, but after the War of 1812 it seems the farmers weren't too thrilled with how easy of a target it was for coastal bombardment so they pretty much moved out…leaving mostly the widows of men who never returned from the sea or the war."

"This page says that over the next few decades, the town got pretty seedy and the widows kept dogs for protection, but eventually the women left or died and the dogs became wild. This turned into a bunch of feral dogs roaming in packs and howling at night. Sounds like an area prime for ghost stories to me."

Sam glanced at his brother. "I gotta ask, man…did we come all the way up here to play animal control? 'Cause this is the only thing I've found that's even **close** to our usual gig."

He shut down his laptop as he shook his head. "A fourteen-year-old in the woods at sunset - no big surprise that she thought she saw something creepy. It probably **was** coyotes. I mean, c'mon, Dean, don't tell me **ghost dogs** are what had us playing Cannonball Run all the way up here."

Dean kept his eyes locked on the highway. "It's like I said last night, some stuff went down in the same area about two years ago. We thought things were taken care of…"

"That's another thing - why are we taking Caleb's sloppy seconds?" Sam looked out the window, watching the trees slip past. He knew if Dean was playing things this close to the vest then whatever he'd experienced had affected him far more than he was letting on. Sam worked at carefully antagonizing his brother, hoping to push him towards revealing more.

"I thought you liked Caleb," replied Dean. He knew exactly what Sam was trying to do – it was the same tactic he would have used.

"I do, but we're subcontractors now?" Sam scrunched down in the passenger seat, adjusting his long legs into a more comfortable position. "Getting coordinates from Dad is one thing, and that just sucks. But now we're doing favors for his friends? Come on, man, what's the real reason we're up here?"

Dean plucked the Starbucks cup from his brother's hand and sniffed it. "You have them add a shot of testosterone to this latte?"

Sam snatched the drink back but Dean just grinned. Dean had given his brother a generous amount of breathing room when Sam initially sought to keep his visions a secret. He hoped Sam's stubbornness would take a breather until he was ready to talk.

"All right, yes, if it gets you to drop the history lesson – Dogtown is why we're here. Not the attack on the girl specifically, but--" He stopped himself, more than a little surprised at how readily the explanation caught in his throat. "Listen bro, there's an old saying - you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours." He sighed and smiled lazily as his thoughts slid to ones of a more amorous nature. "Always works for me."

"Yeah, well, nobody is going to get **near** you if we don't do some laundry," replied Sam. It had been over a week since their limited wardrobe had seen the inside of a washing machine. Sam's thoughts returned to the job. "Are we going to talk to the girl?"

Dean shook his head. "She's fourteen - let's leave her alone. She should be thinking about boys and clothes, not this kind of stuff."

"Don't see why," Sam replied, turning his head toward the window again. "At fourteen, I was thinking about banshee attacks and protector symbols."

"Dude, you are weird." Dean turned up the stereo and tapped out a drumbeat on the steering wheel. "At fourteen, I was thinking about Cindy Hagerman and her older sister, Leslie."

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** Authors' Notes: What Sam says about Dogtown is true. And Massachusetts is Dunkin Donuts country.**

**TBC next week. . . **


	3. Chapter 3

**By: Mog & Tidia **

**Authors' Notes: Posting now because very busy weekend. Anyway, some of you have asked about Mog-- well if you go to this site, television shows-Magnificent Seven, you will notice stories that say ATF/AU-- Mog is famous for creating that AU, which is more popular than the original series.   
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PART 3

Hitting the Gloucester city limits, it was a coin toss as to what they would take care of first. As soon as they passed the small blue building that declared itself the 'Home Style Laundry', the search for a cheap motel was pushed to the back burner.

Inside the laundromat, the warm air and dim florescent lighting did little to create any kind of atmosphere that ranked much above 'dingy'. Nevertheless, Dean slid his duffle bag off his shoulder and smiled. "I like this place."

The younger Winchester gave his brother a confused look, until he noticed what was making his brother grin.

"You would."

Each washer had a small plaque, serving as a nametag, which was stuck to the upper panel between the silver colored buttons and dial. From where Sam stood he could read several names - 'Yvonne', 'Lili', 'Jayne'

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I've always had a thing for Italian women." He emptied his duffle bag into a washer named 'Sophia', set the machine for an extra large, warm/cold wash, and primed it with quarters before crossing to a coin-fed detergent dispenser mounted on the wall by the door.

In one corner of the small building, a lone video game sat with a relic pinball machine keeping it company. A young teenage girl focused intently on 'Street Fighter II', while her friend slapped away at the flipper buttons of the NASCAR themed pinball game. A third girl sat on one of the dryers, chewing gum and looking bored.

It only took a few seconds after Sam and Dean's entrance before she slid off the dryer and whispered to her friend at the pinball machine. The resulting giggles were soft, but still audible.

Sam was oblivious to the attention as he placed his clothes in 'Marilyn' and gave her a dollar in quarters. Booting up his laptop, he set it on the washing machine between his and the one Dean was using. He took the small container of detergent that his brother offered him. Dean waited until Sam was busy emptying soap into the tub before he slid the computer away from his younger sibling.

"Wireless is the best," he said with a grin.

Sam frowned in reaction to his brother's underhanded maneuver. "Yeah, especially when you're not the one paying for it."

"There's another kind?"

Sam shot him a look and Dean tried to appear innocent. "Listen, man, it's not my fault if people have unsecured networks in their homes." He hit one of Sam's bookmarked pages and pulled up information on the area known as Dogtown. A thought struck him and he glanced at his brother. "Hey, go get us some soap."

"You just got some."

"I know, now go get us some more…and talk to those girls while you're over there. Maybe they can tell us about the girl that was attacked."

"Why me?" Sam slid the laptop towards himself. "Why don't **you** go talk to them?"

Dean turned the computer back again. "Hello? Age difference. They'll think I'm a sexual predator."

Sam threw his hands up. "And me?"

Smiling, Dean reached out to pinch his brother's cheek, then lightly tapped it. "A fresh-faced college student."

Rolling his eyes, Sam walked to the dispenser before faking the need for change for a dollar and approaching the girls. Dean tried to hide his grin when he heard a fit of giggles - he knew he'd just fed Sam to the sharks.

Twenty minutes later a cell phone chirped a tinny version of an excruciatingly upbeat pop song and the girls reluctantly responded to one of their moms calling them home.

Sam returned a wave as he gratefully rejoined Dean. "So, they said that Amy, that was her name, is a friend of theirs and she swears - before she was attacked by a huge dog with red eyes - that there was something else in the woods. She said no one else was around but she heard a voice – said something like 'a toll must be made'. They believe her, they were seriously shook."

"Seriously shook?" Dean looked out the laundromat's large, front window to where the girls stood, clandestinely watching them, then glanced back at his brother. "Ten minutes with teeny-boppers and you're sounding just like them. Don't suppose you also talked about what happened on this week's 'One Tree Hill'?"

Sam's mouth tightened into a small frown. "It was **twenty** minutes, and next time **you** can go talk to them." He snatched his laptop off the washer and dropped down into a chair a few feet away. "Dickweed," he whispered under his breath, letting the din of the sloshing machines cover the insult.

"Bitch," Dean replied.

Sam stared at his brother, exasperated that he couldn't get away with the discreet comment. "How did you hear that?"

Dean flashed a cocky grin and pointed to the machine that was finishing its first cycle. "Marilyn told me."

* * *

It was off-season in the small town and most of the motels that catered to the tourist trade wouldn't be open for several months. The boys made their way to Bass Rocks, at the tip of Gloucester, which revealed one motel open year-long for business. It was a classic Victorian home, and from the casual amount of disarray, it was obvious the owners were using the down time for minor renovations.

A tarp was spread out on the small front porch, and a ladder and a can of half-empty sky blue paint sat, unattended.

"I like it," Sam commented, looking up at the ceiling of the porch. "I guess it's like having summer skies all year round."

Dean squeezed past the ladder and responded in a tone that indicated he was surprised at the assumption. "Dude…it's to keep witches away."

Sam stared at his brother for a long moment. "That is quite possibly one of the dumbest things I've ever heard you say."

A conservative looking, middle-aged man in paint-stained denim overalls clomped up the steps and nodded to the brothers before he picked up a brush lying across the top of the paint can.

Sam smiled and pointed upward. "Excuse me, the blue on the ceiling here…"

The man glanced up briefly, then stared at Sam and answered in a broad New England accent. "Keeps away the witches."

Dean shrugged as he opened the front door. "Told ya."

* * *

In the room, Dean flipped through pamphlets that Sam picked up in the lobby. "This is my favorite type of research - the kind with color photos."

Sam stretched himself out on the double bed. "How much research can there be? I mean, you were here before…and didn't Caleb give you something to go on when he called?"

Dean's body language changed subtly and he turned away from his brother to lay the pamphlets on a tall dresser in the corner. "It's just a rumor at this point. There's nothing to 'know' until we check things out. Caleb thinks it's connected to one of the last occupants of Dogtown, Tammy Younger - they called her "Queen of the Witches."

"Tammy?" Sam repeated. "Isn't that a little modern for the 1800s?"

"Short for Thomazine."

Sam winced at the ugliness of the name but prompted his brother to continue. "So, we have a witch and a red-eyed dog and…what else?"

Dean brought his gaze back to Sam. "And nothing, Caleb's in California. He heard a rumor, we're gonna check it out."

For a brief moment, Sam felt as if he was speaking to their dad. The 'need to know' approach was never one that sat well with Sam, but for Dean's sake, he'd let it go unless he felt it would put either of them at risk. Instead of pressing further, he rolled off the bed and retrieved their father's journal. "So, we're looking for something dog-like with red eyes."

He sat on the bed and scanned sections of the book as Dean unpacked some of their freshly laundered clothes.

"The red eyes should narrow it down," offered Dean.

"Okay, for possibilities we have…Grims, but those protect **against** evil, and it's rare to find them outside a graveyard. Then there's one of my personal favorites - a Dip."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I can see why you'd feel a connection to a dip."

Sam flipped his brother off, but kept reading. "This one is a demonic dog that drinks people's blood. There's also the Bargest, but that's usually indigenous to England…"

"Does it have bad teeth?" Dean joked.

"You could say so." Sam turned the journal so his brother could see the photocopy taped to the page - an old woodblock print of a monstrous, goblin-like dog with huge teeth and claws.

Dean winced. "That is one f'ugly mutt. I hope no one imported that thing in. Demon dogs should stay in their own country."

Sam continued to flip through the book. "I mean it could be almost anything. It **could****have** been a coyote." He covered his mouth with the back of his hand as a long yawn escaped. The bed he sat on was the first one he'd seen since they'd left Oklahoma.

Dean pulled the journal away, closed it and placed it on the nightstand between the two beds before drawing the blinds against the late morning sun. "Get some sleep. Tonight I want to do a little recon…find out exactly what kind of huge, red-eyed coyotes they've got around here."

Sam welcomed the idea of sleeping somewhere other than the passenger's seat of the Impala. He kicked off his shoes and dropped his jeans on the end of the bed. Climbing under the covers, he let the coolness of the cotton sheets envelope his body.

He looked at his brother, who was still moving about the room. "You gonna get some sleep too?"

"Yeah, man, in a bit…just wanna prep a little first."

Before Sam closed his eyes, he saw Dean pull the sawed-off shotgun from their equipment bag.

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**Please Note: The laundromat described does exist -not in Gloucester , but in Newport, RI. ALl the information about Tammy the Witch is true as is the reason why the ceilings of porches are painted blue. Next week action scene :)**  



	4. Chapter 4

**By Mog & Tidia**

**Authors' Notes: Action sequence coming up and some more of the mystery revealed. Like other authors we do enjoy reviews, but thank you for reading and we of course hope you are enjoying the fic.**

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End of Part 3

He looked at his brother, who was still moving about the room. "You gonna get some sleep too?"

"Yeah, man, in a bit…just wanna prep a little first."

Before Sam closed his eyes, he saw Dean pull the sawed-off shotgun from their equipment bag.

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**PART 4**

Even though the sun had long since set, Dean was thankful for the Forestry Department access trail, which offered protection from any prying eyes that might be on the main road. He killed the headlights and engine and let the Impala coast to a stop.

Slowly, with Dean's flashlight leading the way, they walked through the woods. The darkness seemed to amplify the sounds of the forest.

"Stay sharp," Dean said. He raised his voice and called out, "Heeere doggy…come on, come here hell boy…"

Sam clicked off his shotgun's safety while turning on the small Mag light securely taped to the top of the weapon. "If this was only recon, why are we armed to the hilt."

"Negative thinking."

"What?"

"Negative thinking. It's like reverse psychology," explained Dean, while continuously scanning their surroundings. "I figure if we go into this thinking it's only recon, then it's a sure bet we're gonna get hit up on by this dog on steroids. But if we're totally ready – we won't even see a squirrel."

"Your mind never fails to amaze me." Sam shook his head. "I'm still thinking coyote."

Dean paused. "Yeah, well…something hurt that girl."

Sam stopped too. A suffocating silence had suddenly descended around them. Wordlessly, they moved back-to-back, each sweeping the woods with light.

Sam turned to his right. "Did you see that?"

He stepped forward and Dean moved to join him. Focusing their flashlights in the direction of a large boulder, the beams became one and lit up the face of a huge, black dog with crimson eyes.

In the dim light, it almost seemed to shift between a solid physical mass and a wavering spirit form. Its head was massive, flat and square like that of a Mastiff. The muscles of its broad chest and shoulders swelled when it took a step towards them and dug filthy, talon-like claws into the dirt. Black lips curled back and the skin of its snout wrinkled as it snarled, revealing jagged teeth that shined with saliva.

"Coyote?" Dean whispered, raising his Colt pistol. "Not so much."

A deep growl emanated from the monster's chest. It hunched its back and the dark fur rippled. Both boys knew what was coming.

The beast launched itself at them and they separated, firing their weapons. The spray of rock salt from Sam's shotgun made a hissing sound as it struck the dog, and the creature's angry shriek echoed through the woods. It landed to Sam's left and he tried to pivot away, but it lashed out, cat-like, with one set of razor-sharp claws.

Sam's defensive move was only partially successful. He gasped as the creature's talons struck home, raking shallow slices into the flesh of his left arm. Dean fired several rounds into the dog's side and hoped the .45 caliber silver bullets that he'd dipped in holy water would have the desired effect.

The huge canine let loose a horrific scream and stumbled back, but remained on its feet. Dean used the opportunity to get to his brother. Sam kept his wounded arm tight against his chest, and with the right forearm, he pressed against the cuts, staunching the blood flow while still keeping the shotgun trained on the black dog.

Dean clamped his flashlight high up under his arm, grabbed a fistful of Sam's flannel shirt and pulled him backwards to increase the space between themselves and the snarling creature.

"You okay?" Dean moved in front of his brother, placing himself between the dog and Sam.

"Good enough," Sam answered, ready for the fight.

"Close your eyes and cover your ears."

Sam reacted without question, knowing what his brother was planning. Seconds later, he heard the expected bang and, even through closed lids, his eyes picked up the flash of light from the plastic, can-sized diversionary grenade.

Dean moved left while Sam went to the right. The dog howled in confusion, snapping and snarling in reaction to the sensory overload. It recovered from the flash-bang far faster than Dean had anticipated. He could only watch as the massive creature lunged at his brother.

Sam stumbled back, letting loose another blast of rock salt. He fell backwards just as Dean fired repeatedly at the animal. Four out of the five slugs found their target while Sam scrambled to reload from his position on the ground.

Dean waited for the black dog to drop and cease moving before he approached. A bubbling, hissing noise caught his ear and he watched as the beast's body reacted to the purification of the salt, silver and holy water.

In the beam of his flashlight, Dean saw fur, tissue, and bone melt into the earth.

He scooped up the reusable flash grenade and shoved it in his jacket pocket before turning away from the dissolving corpse to check on his brother. Sam still sat where he'd fallen, sandwiching his wounded limb between his body and his right arm. The shotgun lay on the ground next to him and the beam from the Mag light taped to the double barrel lit up Dean's feet as he approached.

Dean worked to catch his breath from the fight as he clicked on his pistol's safety and tucked the weapon away against the small of his back. He shined his own flashlight down at his brother. "You still okay?"

Sam glanced at the torn, bloody sleeve of his flannel shirt, then back up at Dean and showed a small grin. "I think I need to arrange a second date with Marilyn."

Sam's smile fell away when his eyes landed on something behind his brother. "Uhh, Dean…"

The older Winchester turned slowly and flashed his light on what caught Sam's attention. A thin, wizened woman, with long white hair - frizzy and wild - stood by the large boulder where they'd first seen the black dog. Her skin stretched taut over the facial bones and a milky film veiled her eyes. She wore a gray, ankle-length sheath dress and shabby black shoes that resembled ballet slippers.

"Where the hell did **she** come from?" whispered Dean, watching her carefully as his hand inched slowly toward the pistol tucked behind his back.

"She just appeared," Sam whispered back.

"Appeared like, 'from behind the rock' appeared or-"

"Like 'materialized from mist' appeared."

Dean watched her for a moment, then whispered again to his brother. "If she asks if we've seen her dog – say no."

Her hand reached out; extending skeletal fingers so pale they seemed transparent. "The toll must be paid."

Both brothers immediately recognized the phrase from what the teens in the laundromat told Sam. However, neither of them felt threatened by the somber woman. After being attacked by a demonic canine, a crone seemed innocuous.

Dean's hand slid under his coat. "I only have plastic," he answered.

The woman's voice became more insistent. "The toll must be paid."

Sam gave up the protective hold on his arm to reach slowly for the shotgun. "Geez, Dean, the ghost wants your ass."

Though Sam couldn't see his brother's face, he could hear the smile in Dean's voice. "It's the 'bad boy' thing. It's what hooked Cindy and Leslie Hagerman too."

Sam grinned, while still moving his hand toward the weapon next to him. "Yeah, and if I remember, **Mrs.** Hagerman said there were two kinds of bad boys that moms worry about – the ones that will break their daughters' hearts and the ones that will break into their neighbor's house."

"She always was too overprotective. And this one's not as well-preserved as I like my women." Dean watched the beam from Sam's flashlight bob through the darkness as the shotgun was picked up. "You ready?"

"Yep."

The woman stared at Dean with watery eyes and lifted a hand to point at him. "I remember you…."

She didn't get a chance to finish. Sam saw her focus her attention on his brother and he fired from the ground before she could attempt anything. She screamed and stumbled back into the large boulder. The instant she came in contact with the rock she slumped forward but kept her arms spread wide, pressed against the stone.

Her skeletal fingers gripped tight to every edge they touched as she stood upright.

"Wait!" Dean blurted, stepping in front of Sam as he struggled to his feet. Their flashlight beams cast the old woman in an eerie glow, and though Dean pointed his pistol at her, he'd yet to fire.

She raised her head and Dean noticed that the milky film across her eyes had cleared. He took a step forward while gesturing for his brother to hang back, but he stopped when the woman spoke again.

"I'm Emily…" she pleaded. Her voice sounded dramatically younger. "I'm Emily…Please, you did this…" With one hand, she slapped her chest several times. "She's here…she wants…"

The woman lurched forward and Dean heard Sam shout from behind him.

"Move!"

"No!" Dean spun towards his brother as a blast from the shotgun reverberated through the dark woods.

The rock salt seemed to pass through the old woman as she moved away from the boulder. She lifted her hands and from behind her, a violent wind swept through. Engulfing the brothers, it forced them into protective, crouched positions. Seconds later, the wind stopped and they stood alone amongst the trees.

Soft crackles and swishes dusted the woods with faint noise as leaves stirred up by the gust settled back to the forest floor.

"What the hell was that?" asked Sam, tersely. "What did she mean she remembers you?"

Dean didn't answer right away. He looked at his brother and Sam could see the raw emotion in the green eyes before Dean looked back at the large rock.

"It can't be her," he whispered.

"Can't be who? Damn it, Dean, enough with the closed-mouth crap-"

"Emily Carver," Dean stated flatly. "That was her name…she's why we're here."

The older Winchester pushed down a barrage of memories and looked around. "Listen, we just let off a whole lot of noise that I do **not** want to have to answer questions about. Let's just get back to the room so we can take care of that arm and…I'll explain there. I'll explain everything."

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**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors' Notes:** Okay, big explanation scene. As Ridley stated in her fic, The Line, we are using similar themes of morality and standing up against others. Anyway, The Line is a great fic. Please enjoy and review. The next part will not be until next week-this was an early gift.

PART 5

The ride back to the motel was silent. Sam cradled his arm and chose to wait until they were in calmer surroundings before discussing what had transpired in the woods.

"Let me see that," Dean said, once he shut the door to their room. Sam stripped off his torn flannel shirt, but Dean didn't give him a chance to volunteer the wounded arm. Reaching out, he placed his hand over the broken skin.

"How do you do it?" asked Sam.

"Hell if I know," Dean answered. "This is pretty much all I did at Beets' place and at the hotel back in Millerton. Figured I'd just try the same thing."

In a moment, the cuts were gone. Dean's eyes closed and he hissed when the surface layers of skin on his arm split, as if the slices ruptured from below. Sam winced at the unnaturalness of it, and as blood rose to the surface of the cuts, he crossed to the bathroom to get his brother a wet washcloth.

He returned to see Dean wholly absorbed in watching his body deal with the deep scratches. Sam held the washcloth out, but when Dean didn't take it he pushed it gently into his brother's hand. His initial anger had subsided during the drive back, but Sam was still determined to get all of his questions answered before they made another move.

He folded his arms across his chest and studied his brother. "So, who's Emily Carver?'

Dean didn't look up; instead he touched one of the gashes on his arm as it was shrinking. He studied the blood on the tips of his first two fingers, rubbing it slowly with his thumb until it darkened the swirls of his fingerprints. He spoke in a low voice, not lifting his gaze from the red smears. "What did you say once, Sammy - there are some things I need to keep to myself."

Sam unconsciously took a half-step back, in reaction to the disconcerting behavior. "Dean..."

The older Winchester finally leveled a gaze at his brother. "If I tell you Sam, and you want to leave…run, don't walk."

Sam pulled out the desk chair and sat down. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean exhaled a soft breath and turned away from his brother. He looked out the sliding glass door to the ocean across the street. The grey sea swirled with white caps, mirroring his feelings.

"Caleb asked Dad for some help - so we came." Dean recalled the dingy cabin that Caleb had holed up in. "It was about a year after you left."

It was funny to Dean how, in his mind, things were broken into timelines consisting of 'before Sam left' and 'after Sam left'. The current way he thought of milestones was by way of 'now that Sam returned'.

"You know how Caleb has connections to some cults? Always saying that there is something that's true in each of them - you just have to find it. Well, one of his friends called him about a girl they said was possessed…."

Dean thought back to the last time he was in Gloucester.

_Caleb leaned in the doorway of the rented cabin's bathroom and rubbed a hand over his bald head. Dean recognized it at the ammunitions expert's nervous twitch. Dean took another swig of beer and listened, waiting for Caleb to tell him and his father the story of why backup was needed._

"_So there's a guy I know, belongs to a local group-"_

"_Cult?" John offered, it was definitely more of a statement than a question. He'd done some homework between the time Caleb called them and when they'd arrived._

_Caleb nodded, somewhat sheepishly. "Cult," he agreed. "Headed by the Reverend Leroy Ridgeway. Anyway, my friend tells me that this girl, Emily, was caught by her husband with some rune stones."_

_Dean shifted in his chair. Things already didn't feel right. _

_John pushed passed his friend's apprehension, getting to the point. "Rune stones," he repeated flatly. "**That's** why you told me to prep for an exorcism?" _

_Dean's surprise was evident. "They asked you to do an **exorcism**?"_

_Caleb swallowed and again rubbed his head. "Not at first…" He looked down at his hands. "I made it worse. Brian, the guy I know, introduced me to Emily and she and I talked for a little while. I mean, I wanted to find out if there was even a chance that they could be right about a possession."_

"_And?" Dean prompted._

"_Not a chance. But I did some research after we talked, after she told me about herself and her history. She's a descendent of Tammy Younger…" Caleb noticed that neither hunter recognized the name. "Famous witch in these parts, they actually called her Queen of the Witches."_

_John interrupted. "And you told them this?"_

"_I thought I was **helping**," answered Caleb. "I explained that there was nothing abnormal about her using the stones. It was part of her heritage, what she'd grown up with - she wasn't possessed."_

"_And what did they say to that?" Dean asked, as he absently peeled the label off the Budweiser bottle._

"_They stopped listening when they heard the word witch...and started talking about beating the devil out of her." Caleb dropped into one of the avocado green, vinyl-covered kitchen chairs._

_Dean looked at his father and then back at Caleb. "And you're friendly with these cult people? Jesus, Caleb, you need to find yourself another set of friends...ones with lower religious morals."_

"_So you'll help?" Caleb's tone indicated his growing impatience. He rubbed the sweat off his brow with his sleeve. _

_Dean looked up, waiting for his father to reply in the negative. That wasn't the answer he heard._

"_She's not possessed," John stated. "Why are we here?"_

"_Jesus, John, I'm in over my head here. The Children of the Messiah have 100 brave and strong zealots who believe an eighteen-year-old girl has the Devil inside her. I figured between the three of us, we could do a fake exorcism and get her out." _

_Caleb's cell phone chirped, demanding his attention, and he stepped out on the deck to take the call. _

_Dean stood up and put on his jacket. "If we hit the road now, we can make it to New York in four hours." John didn't move, prompting Dean to stare at him warily. "You're not seriously considering this?"_

_In matters of the hunt, Dean knew John Winchester trusted his friends more than he trusted his sons. Those people had mentored him. But his dad, above all others, had to see the high risk involved with Caleb's plan. Dean's first instinct was to leave, and if he'd learned anything from the hunt it was always go with your first instinct._

"_With all due respect," said Dean, "ignoring the fact that we'd be no better than a bunch of tent show faith healer con men - exorcisms are a dangerous business. **You** taught me that." _

"_We're getting her out." John crossed his arms with resolve. _

_Dean wanted to grab his father and shake some sense into him. He couldn't help but feel the plan had doom written all over it. "Fine, I agree, we'll get her out - sounds like she'd be better off away from that pack of Froot Loops anyway. But why don't we just bust in, get her, and get the hell out?"_

"_And then what, Dean – adopt her into the family? Besides, you heard the numbers Caleb gave. One hundred to three are lousy odds. We don't need any more enemies." John gave his son a look that clearly indicated the conversation was over. The patriarch of the family had made the decision that they would go with, as always. _

_Caleb returned to the room and seemed relieved when John nodded. However, Dean's tightly crossed arms indicated the younger man's displeasure with the situation._

"_You don't have to do anything," Caleb said. "Just stand witness and be there just in case, and we all should get out of this no problem." _

_Dean shook his head, but gave an acquiescing look. He understood how to stand witness. He had done it his whole life - witnessed his father's grief and obsession, witnessed Sam's life - first tooth, first steps, first date. Dean wondered if anyone knew **his** milestones._

_A small voice in the back of his head told him he should have enough strength of character to insist on **his** course of action, to challenge his father a little more. Instead, he fell back into line and followed orders._

Clearing his throat, Dean paused for a moment, feeling all the emotions and images flood back. He stared out the sliding glass door, unable to face his brother.

"The first time dad and I saw her she was strapped to a goddamned table, courtesy of her 'people'. She was eighteen years old…scared to death." A dry laugh escaped his lips. "At one point, she'd even begged me to kill her, but I…I just told her everything would be fine."

He realized how cocky he'd been in the belief that they could pull off the sham exorcism, and from there perhaps help Emily get away from the cult. He had wanted to whisk her away, to a place far from her family, far from the people who so vehemently believed that she was consumed by evil.

"So what happened?" asked Sam gently.

Dean looked at his brother. "Like the saying goes – to hell in a handbasket. She stopped breathing after the last incantation. We all saw her body lift a good two inches off the table before she passed out."

"Wait, I don't get it…why the reaction? I mean, I thought she wasn't possessed?"

"Jesus, she was scared out of her mind," Dean rubbed his forehead. "You know as well as I do extreme emotions act as a vacuum. Caleb thought the incantation opened her up to something…" Dean looked back out to the water. "He just froze when she collapsed."

_John pushed past Caleb and put an ear close to Emily's mouth, watching for chest movement as he pressed two fingers against her carotid artery. "Nothing. Dean!" _

_His son knew what was expected. As John puffed air into the young girl's lungs, Dean began the rhythmic series of chest compressions._

_The crowd that packed the small room watched in horror and fascination. The Reverend Ridgeway had warned them. Now they were bearing witness to the results of following the path of disobedience. He stood at the foot of the table and raised his hands, addressing the group._

"_If Sister Emily returns to us, then we shall know the Messiah forgave her transgressions and freed her from the control of the demon." _

_Wailing voices from the reverend's followers filled Dean's head and he tried to shut out the surrealism of the moment by counting louder as he pressed on the young girl's chest._

"Two rounds later she came back." Dean swallowed, trying to combat the sudden dryness in his mouth. Caleb's recent call brought back all the self-doubt he'd felt from that time. He'd made a costly mistake - one that he always believed had affected his soul.

"I just wanted to get her the hell out of there." He shook his head and laughed acerbically. "But, I was a good little soldier and followed orders."

"Dean," Sam winced. He recognized the words he used towards his brother in the asylum back in Rockford. He had never meant to vocalize those childish thoughts. He hadn't been in control, and he had always hoped that Dean knew that. His brother's statement proved at least **Dean** believed it. This time, however, Sam **was** in control and he **did** mean what he was saying. "She's alive…because of you."

Dean shook his head, negating the idea that he'd done anything right. "Maybe she wasn't supposed to be. We brought her back but…she wasn't the same." He closed his eyes as he remembered her frantic screams.

_She whimpered at first. "Help me…help me."_

_Dean reassured Emily with words as he and John worked at cutting through the leather strips that bound her to the table._

_The reverend called to her husband. "Come, Stephen. Come to your wife."_

_A lanky, blonde man in his late twenties came forward, bearing a sheepish grin. "Emily. Emily, you are free."_

_The young woman smiled at her husband and lifted a hand to his face. The gentle moment was shattered when she let loose a piercing shriek and slashed at his face with her fingernails. With a primal force she broke free of the remaining bonds and attacked her husband. The room echoed with frightened screams from the crowd. Several of the men reacted, pulling Emily off her shocked husband, but not before she'd drawn blood._

_The reverend lifted his hands, shouting to his flock. "The Messiah has punished her! He has taken her wit and her good sense for tampering with the tools of the Devil. The Messiah speaks through me and we will mete out consequence." _

_Emily fought against her captors as they dragged her from the room. Reeling from the sudden turn of events, Dean struggled to find his voice, finally yelling at the reverend._

"_She hasn't done anything!" He took a step toward the leader but his father's strong hands held him back._

_The reverend spun on them and John knew what was coming. Ridgeway was no different than any other charismatic, power-hungry man - he professed love and righteousness while ruling with a severe hand. To maintain his alpha position he would denounce any who challenged him._

"_You have given the demon more power! The Messiah took her to him but you defied his will and brought her body back to this world! Her soul is no longer her own!"_

_The resentment towards their presence was palpable. John put a hand on Dean's back and pushed him toward the door. Caleb flowed with the press of the crowd and also retreated, but shouted at the reverend._

"_What are you going to do to her?"_

"_She will be cast out amongst the dogs!" the reverend decreed. _

Dean crossed his arms and took in a deep breath, dreading telling the rest of the story. "A couple of days later Caleb was able to get hold of his friend who told him they left her out in Dogtown. Caleb phoned in an anonymous tip to the police and he found out later she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital."

"So what's the rumor he called you about?" Sam prompted.

"There've been half a dozen sightings over the last month in the woods of Dogtown - the ghost of an old woman who demands payment. Sound familiar? But the account that Caleb saw on a New England ghosts web page said the old woman called herself Emily Carver and was begging for help."

Sam's brow furrowed. "That lady we saw tonight was way too old to be the girl you described. Besides, wouldn't she still be-"

Dean anticipated the question. "Caleb made a couple of phone calls - Emily was released from the hospital a month ago."

He absently chewed on the soft skin of his lower lip and continued to look out into the ocean, hypnotized by the whitecaps. Leaning forward slightly, his crossed arms pressed against the cool glass of the sliding door, and he became aware of the drain of energy that followed the use of his new healing powers.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, as if he was talking to himself. "Guess you've always been right, Sammy. Don't ever trust me, 'cause I'm just gonna follow orders, and sometimes that's the wrong thing to do."

"Dean, it was all out of your control." Sam never realized that his brother had taken up this mantle of guilt two years ago. No words would change his mind. "You tried to help her…And did what you could under the circumstances…"

Dean gave a harsh laugh. "Your moral compass must not be working, bro." He turned his head slightly but didn't look at his brother. A part of him wished he could will Sam to leave, to run. Dean felt he'd come in contact with the dark too many times, and every meeting had left a little bit of darkness in **him** - miniscule pieces that saturated his body, till eventually it spread to those around him, destroying their lives.

"She was **eighteen**, and the day I didn't stand up – that was the day her life was destroyed. Her life, Sammy…'cause I didn't do what I thought was right."

"Is that why you wanted me to visit Sarah instead of coming here with you?" Sam asked. "Dean…Look, man, let's try to find out what's going on. Maybe we can help her."

Slowly, Dean turned to face his brother, determination set his features. "Whatever it takes. I just want to make it right."

**TBC**

**Please review**

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Authors' Disclaimer: There is a cult headquartered in Gloucester, however we did not base any of the information on that particular cult. 


	6. Chapter 6

By Mog and Tidia

_Authors' Notes: The wrong Part 6 got posted-- this is the right one. Blame the tardiness on MOG...but, we should have another part up by tomorrow and people when you read this think good thoughts because my (Tidia) big exam is on Wednesday and Thursday. Also--please write letters to Kripke--girl hunters--you have got to be kidding me!_

PART 6

Sam leaned back in the chair in front of the microfiche machine and stretched his arms over his head. The long, narrow windows of the Gloucester Public Library pulled his tired eyes away from the newspaper article on the screen and he stared out at the gray that had rolled in and settled over the town. He had no difficulty imagining Gloucester as a sparkling seaside place in the summer; but in the off-season it had a quiet, forlorn atmosphere.

It only took thirty minutes after they'd arrived at the library for Dean's restlessness to set in and he determined that a caffeine run was necessary. An hour later he snuck in a contraband coffee from Dunkin' Donuts and handed it to his brother.

"Thanks." Sam held the ice-filled cup below table level, analyzing it. "What is it?"

"French vanilla iced latte."

Sam's doubtful look moved from Dean to the drink, then back to Dean. "You actually ordered this?" He took a sip from the straw and was surprised at how easy the cold coffee went down.

"Oh hell, no. That girly drink? Molly suggested it." Dean smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"Molly?" repeated Sam, now knowing why his brother had been gone so long. "So I get a girly drink because you wanted a hook up?"

"She gave me her phone number and some Munchkins." Dean pulled a glazed doughnut hole from a small bag in his coat pocket and popped it into his mouth.

"Munchkins?" Sam stared at his brother.

"Dude, you really need to learn the language," Dean said while chewing. "These," he pulled another one, this time chocolate, out of his pocket, and waved it in front of his brother before eating it, "are Munchkins."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, everywhere **not** Dunkin' Donuts country - those be doughnut holes."

"There was a Dunkin' Donuts in Lawrence when we were kids," replied Dean, with a hint of indignation.

"Yeah, and we never went. The only place we ever went was on West 9th – Joe's Bakery."

Dean shrugged. "What did you find?" he asked, in a low voice. The Gloucester library appeared to be lax with the whispering rules, but he didn't want to risk librarian attention and wrath by getting caught going against the 'no food or drink' regulation.

Sam took a sip of coffee before explaining. "That big rock in the woods…you know, the one Emily was hugging? Well, during the Depression, a guy by the name of Roger Babson commissioned unemployed stonecutters to carve inspirational phrases in two dozen boulders throughout Dogtown."

"Inspirational phrases? You mean like peace, faith, love?" Dean looked at a book lying open on the table and the photograph of a man in a suit standing with several laborers.

Sam stared at his brother, noticing his pensive mood. "And here I thought you were going to guess sex, drugs, and rock and roll."

Dean smiled, but asked another question. "You think she was drawing some kind of power from the rock?"

"It definitely seemed like we met two different people out there last night. There's nothing about Babson that would indicate the rocks were infused after the carving, but remember that – oh, what was it called…" Sam gestured with his hands.

"The Stone of Destiny," Dean replied, picking up his brother's train of thought.

"Right," Sam nodded, "supposed to give power to the rightful kings of Ireland and Scotland."

Dean wiped at the sugar glaze he could feel on the corners of his mouth. "Maybe if we can get her to do it again, she can tell us how to help her."

Sam drummed his fingers on the open book in front of him. "Go straight to the source…That would be different for us."

"If I gave you a fake ID to go into the woods, would that make you feel better?" Dean gathered up the books to return to the reference section.

"Bite me," Sam replied, "and give me one of those stupid Munchkins." Dean slipped one to him and he chewed it quickly and took a drink of coffee before tucking the cup clandestinely into his coat. "So do we have a Plan B? In case the touchy-rocky thing doesn't work?"

Dean didn't hide a mischievous smile. "Maybe with your shining you can do magic spells…like a witch."

Sam stared at him flatly. "Yeah, and maybe I have an evil twin too."

"Hmm, an evil witch - kinda an anti-Sammy." Dean made a show of shuddering. "One of you is bad enough."

**TBC**

**Note: Yep, for those of you not into Dunkin Donuts-- they are Munchkins!**


	7. Chapter 7

_Authors' Notes: Tidia has finished the BAR exam and is going on vacation. Mog, has writers block--so although the initial draft of the fic is done--she needs your help! Please read and review. :)_ _We will still post while Tidia is on vacation._

Part 7

Night settled over Gloucester, and the boys returned to Dogtown. The natural lack of underbrush in the woods allowed their flashlight beams to cut deep into the darkness, where every sound and silhouette fell under suspicion.

A few minutes spent at the boulder where they'd initially encountered the old woman resulted in nothing more than an increase of Dean's edginess. They should have felt some solace, being close to true civilization, but Dean's guilt hung over him and Sam was worried about his brother.

Veering away from the roughly groomed paths, they sought more of the large rocks that bore the inspirational phrases that had seemingly grounded Emily.

"Stop it," Dean hissed, while studying the shadowy areas that surrounded them.

"What?" Sam asked, trying to figure out what he'd done.

Dean looked back at his brother. "You're breathing too loud."

Sam let out an audible sigh. "So I should stop breathing?"

"It would help," Dean drawled, with more than a hint of seriousness.

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing the reaction would be lost in the darkness. "I'll see what I can do." He deliberately inhaled loudly before puffing out his cheeks and pretending to hold his breath. He slowly let the air out through pursed lips, sounding like a deflating tire.

"Okay," Dean conceded, adjusting the small pack on his back, "you can breathe - just do it quietly."

"Dean, we're in some haunted wood and we want to have a conversation with a mental patient….I get that you're on edge but-" He cut himself off as Dean's flashlight beam brushed over a boulder. "Hold up." He swung the shotgun around to point his own light toward the large rock, but in the same instant he felt a distinct change in the air.

It was as if a thousand tiny spiders rushed up his arms and down his spine. His left hand supported the weight of the shotgun barrel, but the forearm felt heavy and encumbered due to the sheathed knife he'd strapped to it. He now doubted the practicality of bringing the blade if it was only going to impede his ability to fight.

A rough breeze pushed through, scattering leaves across the ground. The resulting uneven, harmonic whispers buzzed through Sam's head.

Dean spun around, scanning the woods behind his brother. "Did you hear that?"

Sam turned also, raising the shotgun, but Dean's hand on the back of his shirt tugged him toward the inspirational rock. Something moved through the forest toward them - slow and deliberate, a hunter stalking prey.

A low growl emanated from the darkness and the Mag light taped to the barrel of the shotgun illuminated a pair of red eyes. Sam nestled the butt of the weapon against his shoulder, drawing a bead on a familiar large, dark shape. Dean's whisper and nudge, however, kept him from pulling the trigger.

"Looks like Old Yeller done sent a posse from the beyond."

Sam looked to their right and, in the sweep of Dean's flashlight, saw crimson eyes glowing amongst the trees.

With their backs to the large boulder, Dean tucked his Colt into the waist of his jeans and slowly eased the small pack from his back to remove a bottle of lighter fluid. He squirted a haphazard half-circle in a thick, wide arc before slipping his Zippo from his pocket.

"Just a thought here," Sam said, as his brother crouched to light the fuel, "but, uh, you sure fire is going to keep demon dogs back?"

Dean stood and took a step back to stand beside his brother as the low flames devoured the combustible liquid. Shoulder to shoulder, they looked out into the dark, ready to face the siege.

"Maybe these demon dogs are part regular dog." Dean sought assurances and pulled the Colt from his waistband. The creatures closed in, unfazed by the fire, and Dean could distinctly make out their forms. "Wishful fuckin' thinking," he muttered. "I see four."

"Three on this side," Sam returned. He stared down the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun and sited the closest beast. Its talon-like claws dug into the dirt as it lowered to a predatory crouch. It launched itself at Sam just as he pulled the trigger, letting loose a forceful spray of rock salt.

Beside him, Dean fired several rounds in quick succession and heard his target shriek when the consecrated bullets pierced its flesh. A second blast from the shotgun rang in his ears, competing with the noise from his own weapon. Three corpses lay on the forest floor; yet, even as one was struck down, another took its place.

"Damn," Dean spat, "they're like rabbits!" He fired again, burying four rounds deep into a mass of matted, black fur.

Turning, he saw his brother striking at one of the canines with the butt of his shotgun, while another breached the flames, clawing and snapping at Sam from behind. Dean assessed the proximity risk to his brother in a tenth of a second, then drove two bullets into the second beast's skull. Warm blood splattered across his shirt and face but a harsh scream prevented him from thinking about it.

Sam yelled as the first dog sank its teeth into his right forearm, piercing the tender skin with sharp, yellowed fangs. Dean had no opportunity to react. A burning pain raked down his right side as another dog burst from the dark, and lashed out at him with razor-sharp talons.

Dean fell to his knees, collapsing against the boulder. He swung his .45 toward the creature and pulled the trigger, but only felt the dry-fire click of an empty chamber. The creature's jaw snapped dangerously close to his right leg and he kicked wildly at it. His boot smashed against the beast's wide chest, driving it back, while he dug into his jacket pocket for a second clip.

With his back to the large rock, Dean continued to lash out with forceful kicks at the attacking hound. It growled and snapped as he ejected the empty clip from his Colt and slammed the new one in. The tip of his boot connected solidly with the creature's snout, knocking it sideways and affording him precious seconds to raise his pistol and fire the killing shots.

He'd had no time to focus on helping Sam fend off his own attacker. The younger Winchester had dropped the shotgun when the intense pain shot through his arm. Instinct took over - with his left hand, he aimed for the eyes and slammed a fierce palm strike to the canine's face. It released its hold on his forearm and Sam instantly grabbed for the knife strapped to his other arm.

Red eyes flashed as the creature lunged in for another attack. Sam slashed at its face, hacking at the vulnerable area. It shrieked wildly and backed away, but the pain did little to deter it. Sam felt the hard stone of the boulder against his back and could only ready himself in a defensive position as the huge canine closed in.

Pistol fire cracked the night air, three shots followed by four more. Sam watched the beast before him stumble sideways as the second set of rounds from Dean's Colt slammed into it. The Winchesters kept their focus locked on the beast until it dropped to the ground. The consecrated bullets reacted with the unholy flesh, dissolving the body down to little more than fetid slime.

Sam doubled over, gulping in air to work through the pain in his arm. The fight had smothered the small wall of flames that Dean had set, but the smell of lighter fluid still hung in the air and Sam couldn't decide if he associated it with purification or the manifestation of evil.

He became aware of a warm wetness running down the back of his left leg and was not too surprised when the exhausted muscles gave way, dropping him to the ground beside his brother.

"I'm not carrying your ass back to the car," Dean stated, holding a bloodied hand to his own side. Sam knew the comment was his brother's way of finding out how he was doing, while also trying to alleviate the stress of the situation.

"Who said I needed help?" retorted Sam, through labored breath. He reached to retrieve the flashlight that Dean had dropped during the attack. Stretching out his injured leg, he examined the puncture wounds in his arm and tried to ignore the shaking of his hands as unspent adrenaline coursed through his body.

"You think these things have rabies?" he asked, wearily.

"Nah," Dean replied, lifting his head away from where it rested against the boulder, "they're evil dogs - a little holy water should fix everything."

He hoped, however, that his freaky power could handle the viral disease, just in case. He struggled to his feet and looked out into the darkness.

"Can you sit tight for a bit?" he asked, glancing down at Sam. Dean didn't want his brother to suffer, but Emily was still out there, and he had to face her.

"Not a problem." Sam knew what was on his brother's mind and understood the predicament. His academic mind analyzed the facts from a different angle. "You know, those dogs are probably the protector of the Queen of the Witches."

"Yeah, I don't think she's gonna be too happy to find her pets like this." Dean wrinkled his nose at a glistening streak of slime close to his boot. He determined, however, that he would battle one hundred of the demon dogs, if it meant he could right the wrong he'd committed against Emily.

He cursed himself for having gone along with Caleb's original plan. He should have stood up to his father and the other hunter, instead of just acquiescing. He should have demanded respect instead of skirting around it.

He was shaken from his dark memories as Sam took in a deep breath, releasing it in a long sigh. The younger Winchester could see that his brother struggled with inner demons and he didn't like the idea of Dean facing whatever was out in the night by himself.

"Help me up," Sam ordered, holding out his uninjured arm.

Dean stared at his brother for several seconds and Sam responded aloud to the thoughts that he knew were running through Dean's mind.

"I'm going with you; so you either help me stand up, or I'll do it by myself and make you pay for it later."

Dean shook his head and grabbed his brother's arm, carefully pulling him to his feet. Sam swayed briefly before holding steady and Dean stayed nearby, until he was confident that his brother would remain upright.

"Dean," Sam said quietly. An instant later, a breeze spun through the woods, rattling the tree branches overhead.

Dean winced against the pain in his side as he scooped up Sam's knife and shotgun. He traded them for the flashlight that his brother held and moved to stand closer to the boulder. Sam cracked the shotgun open, pulled shells from his pocket, and exchanged them for the empty ones in the weapon. He and Dean were to be the beacon that would attract The Queen of the Witches and the innocent girl attached to her.

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_Please review!_

_Be on the look out for Tidia's new fic: Domain of the Beloved_


	8. Chapter 8

Authors' Notes: There are times a chapter sings to you—and this is my favorite chapter. I poured some soul into it and I know MOG did too. We hope you all enjoy it and would love for you all to review.

Part 8

Directly above the rock, dead leaves swirled upward as heralds; spinning like an ethereal tornado in slow motion. And in the center hovered a familiar, weathered figure.

"The toll must be paid." She gazed down at them, her arm outstretched, palm turned up in a demanding fashion. Her toes hung just inches above the boulder. Sam's eyes flickered downward and in the glow cast off by his flashlight he could see the word 'Hope' carved into the stone. The irony did not escape him – their whole plan was based on little more than hope.

"Just a little closer…" Dean mumbled. "Sam, if this doesn't work, I want you to…" His suggestion was cut off as the spiral of leaves exploded outward, raining dust and debris down around them. The brothers shielded their eyes, but recovered quickly, not wishing to lose sight of the old woman.

They realized immediately that wouldn't be a concern. She stood before them, the rock of Hope just inches behind her. No expression colored the taut, wrinkled face, and the milky white film shading her pupils gave Sam the feeling that the witch stared right through him. He unconsciously took a step back, ignoring the pain of his wounded leg.

"Come on," he whispered, desperate for Emily to take control.

The old woman stumbled back suddenly, as if pulled from behind. With arms outstretched, her hands grabbed at the stone in an attempt to keep her body in contact with the boulder. Her neck arched, rolling her head back against the rock.

"Wants a life, took a life, she wants a life." The young voice gasped forcefully, trying to communicate too many thoughts, too quickly. "Trade for trade, toll must be paid."

Her head snapped down and clear, youthful eyes stared at Dean. "You trapped her," she whispered. "She came back, shouldn't come back…came back as I did…with me, in me. You brought me back and trapped her here."

"Tell me what to do," Dean answered. "How can I help you?

Emily's eyes watered as she struggled to convey her thoughts. She whispered again, as if the soft tone would prevent anyone, or anything, undesired from hearing. "She brought me here. I didn't want to come. This is her place. These are her woods. She takes my life here. Gives me her body. Gave me her body and takes my life. I don't have much left…the life of the gifted is strong…I had the gift - and in the dark, she found me. You brought me back from the dark. But she still takes my life. She wants more. I can't give anymore."

She pulled a hand from the rock and pointed at Sam. "She wants his life."

Dean stepped in front of his brother. "Not gonna happen," he answered flatly. "This is about me. He's got nothing to do with it."

"The life of the gifted is strong. She wants him…Help me." The old figure buckled forward, gasping as Emily struggled to maintain her lucidity and control.

Dean spoke quickly, desperate to keep in contact with the girl. "Listen, it was me who did this to you…Me! Come on, a little revenge would be good for you." The two people closest to Dean fed their souls' breath on revenge - he knew how that game was played. It was primeval, a base emotion.

"No, get away." Emily pressed back against the stone, balancing on the line between her sanity and suffering. "I remember you. Please, I- **she**, will kill you."

"Dean?" Sam reached for his brother's shoulder, but Dean stepped toward Emily, shrugging off the touch.

It was too late, and Sam saw it - Dean was a hostage to his soul. The temptation to aid Emily and save Sam fed his courage. This was Dean.

Sam shifted from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his leg and forearm. "You can't do this on your own."

The older Winchester didn't look back, only kept his focus on Emily. "You're right, but I can try." Dean was invested with this life, invested in Sam. But even as the soul accepts condemnation, it is eager for redemption. And Dean craved redemption. "Can't I, sweetheart?"

He held his arms out in a show of surrender. He had no doubts. This was what he was supposed to do - the right thing. Sam however, saw it as something different. It was an act beyond despair - this was resignation.

The easy offering was too a great temptation for the Queen of the Witches. Tammy Younger regained control, leaping out at Dean. She gripped his upper arms with a strength that belied her frail form, and the force of the connection enveloped Sam, knocking him to the ground.

Dean felt his muscles shake and his ability to concentrate wavered as a cold wind plucked at his skin. The sensation seemed familiar, his memory flashed back to his encounter with the grim reaper. However, the reaper was neither good nor bad, its agenda was simple. The hard grip now digging into the flesh of his arms was sinister.

He fought to catch his breath and struggled against the feeling that his very being was evaporating. The wound inflicted by the black dog's talons burned across his side, further draining him. He shook his head, defying the evil that fed on him.

'_You're gonna stay hungry, bitch.'_

Dean had unfinished business - first, with the shtriga, and now with Emily. If he could know that Sam and his father would be safe from the evils in the world or the demon that had disrupted their lives, then he could die a happy man - but life and death wasn't about happiness, it was about fulfilling a purpose.

Dean resisted his initial reaction to shirk back from the witch's touch. He leaned toward her, forcing himself to tightly grab the bony shoulders. With his remaining strength, he propelled her backwards, pinning her against the rock. He was betting it all on the hope that Emily would help him, that she would have the strength of character to come forward.

Sam grabbed up the shotgun and pushed himself to his feet, wary of the charge that had knocked him back. He looked for an opening, any way he might help his brother. He readied the shotgun, hoping Dean could defy the witch. Rock salt had worked before, and although it wouldn't free Emily, it would allow Dean and Sam to live another day.

As Dean pushed Thomazine against the boulder, Sam took aim. He could see Dean's entire frame shake as he struggled to hold the woman to the stone. Sam knew he would have to risk hitting his brother in order to free him. His finger moved to pull the trigger just as the witch released her hold. Dean broke away, dropping to his knees.

Sam relinquished the opportunity to take the shot. He seized, instead, the back of his brother's shirt and dragged him from the witch's reach. Dean felt the strong hand at his back and pushed with what strength he had to help Sam move them both back. Yet, the wizened woman seemed not to care. She stared at the two men, white eyes glowing in the beam of Sam's flashlight, and her smile was evident.

"The toll has been paid," she laughed. She lifted her arms, as if in triumph, and raised the wind to surround her. The spiraling breeze that had delivered her earlier, once again spun around her body. This time, however, it was not under her command.

The wind picked up, attacking her and chipping away at the shriveled body. It sucked the breath from her lungs. The stringy gray hair and wrinkled skin were stripped away, swept up and carried on the wind. But there was no blood, no exposed muscle. It was as if an outer layer had been shorn off, leaving only a thin, shaking girl standing before them.

Dean recognized her - the face of one of the innocents. "Emily?"

She smiled weakly. "She wanted so much. I did what I could. She's free now…" She opened her mouth to say something more, but a confused expression passed over her face and she looked down at her hands. Lifting one hand into the beam of Sam's flashlight allowed the men to see what Emily felt. She was fading. Her shoulders drooped in disappointment.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, holding out a hand to her. The look on the girl's face spoke volumes – bittersweet regret, forgiveness, a gentle smile. But Dean knew the truth - no one wants to die. She had been given hope, maybe by the rock or maybe by Dean, that she would survive.

A soft breeze passed through the woods and swept away the fading figure of Emily Carver.

Dean slumped, feeling weary from the oppressive weight of another death on his shoulders, from the fight and from the raked skin of his right side.

Sam stood behind his brother, wanting to give him a moment of mourning, but knowing they needed to leave the area as soon as possible to avoid unwanted attention. Favoring his wounded leg, he moved to pick up Dean's small backpack and flashlight.

"We have to go," Sam said softly, extending a hand to his brother. Dean nodded in response and accepted the assistance. He couldn't allow himself the moment to wallow. Sam's wounds needed to be taken care of, and it would be better if they were close to the car. Dean's body was drained already, the healing would exhaust him. Sam could drive them back to the motel.

TBC  
Note: Yes, those rocks with inscriptions really do exist in Dogtown.


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors' Notes: We havent forgotten this, Mog has been busy, and I was working on another fic (Please check out Black Bras & Strappy High Heeled Shoes using Ridley's Caleb) Please enjoy, and please review.**

**Remember Part 8 ended with Sam injured, Dean too, and Emily has dies and Tammy the Witch is also gone. **

Part 9

They leaned heavily on each other as they made their way back to the Impala, each acting as if he was the one who was helping the other. The soft clinking of spent shell casings gathered in Dean's backpack was the only sound to accompany their unsteady gait and intermittent stops and starts.

Finally, they sat in the dirt, backs against the Impala. Dean laid his hands first over the deep scratches of his brother's leg, then on the puncture wounds in the forearm. Warmth surged through his palms and he winced as he felt his body taking on the injuries. Closing his eyes, he let his head drop back against the driver's side door and tried to breathe through the pain.

Sam's injuries intermingled with his own, rising to a pulsating throb, which he hoped would soon pass. He heard Sam push himself to his feet and anticipated his brother's actions. Even the motion of digging into his jacket pocket for the car keys was an effort. He dropped his hand onto his thigh and let Sam retrieve the keys from his loosely closed fist.

Dean cracked his eyes open and looked at his brother. "How ya feeling?"

"Score another for 'the molting'." Sam's voice was positive, but echoed Dean's exhaustion. He looked at the blood-stained shirt that covered Dean's wounded side. He didn't understand why the healing powers would fix the injuries Dean took on, but wouldn't mend anything directly inflicted. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm ready to go dancing."

"You hate dancing."

"Question answered." He showed a lop-sided grin. "And cut the molting crap. If it weren't for you acting like a damned dog biscuit I wouldn't be down here…now, give me a hand."

Sam gripped his brother's uninjured arm and hauled him to his feet. Dean, however, was only upright for a few seconds before a wave of pain and weakness drove him to his knees with a gasp. He felt blood slip down his leg, arm and torso.

"Whoa!" Sam gripped his brother's shoulders and felt a harsh shudder rack the lean frame. "What's wrong?"

Dean took in several deep breaths before he tried to speak. He knew exactly what was wrong. "It's not working."

"What's not working?" Sam tried to pull his brother up. "C'mon let's just try to get in the car- "

"No!" Dean charged, through gritted teeth. He lowered his head, waiting for the dizziness to pass. He pushed out an ironic laugh. "That was the payment…That's what Emily meant – she did what she could."

Sam stared at his brother, not fully understanding. "What are you talking about?"

Dean laughed again but it sounded harsh and hollow. "That old bitch wanted a life…Emily made it so all she could take was the healing."

"But Emily disappeared too. Wasn't she-"

Dean sat back against the Impala again, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. "She said it herself, she didn't have much life left. She was gonna die anyway. Tammy's hold was probably the only thing keeping her around. Looks like the queen of the witches got one last toll."

Sam shook his head. "That can't be; it worked, you just did it."

Dean closed his eyes. "In case you didn't notice, bro, it should have at least **started** fixing the arm and leg by now. It ain't happenin'."

Sam moved quickly. He secured their gear and weapons in the trunk and opened the rear driver's side door. He crouched in front of his brother but got no response.

"Dean?"

The older Winchester opened his eyes. "Sorry, workin' the mojo kinda takes it out of me."

Despite the low light, Dean saw Sam's brow furrow with concern and tried to distract his brother. "You gonna keep staring at me, or you gonna help me into the car?"

Sam's mouth tightened in a small frown but he secured a hold on Dean and helped him stand. Dean took in a sharp breath and wasn't shy about leaning against his brother as Sam guided him to the back seat. Sam let him get mostly settled before shutting the door and getting behind the wheel.

Sam glanced in the rearview mirror at the shadowed figure behind him. "Do you know where the closest hospital is?"

"Yeah, back in our room."

"Dean-" Sam started, clearly irritated.

"Sam. Back to the motel. I mean it, I'm not messin' around."

"Neither am I-"

Dean's voice was weary as he stated his case. "How many weeks worth of newspapers have we scanned since we've been here? You notice anything? These people are freakin' obsessed with the idea of an out-of-control coyote population. We go to the hospital and somebody is going to yell 'coyote attack'. I'm not gonna risk the morning news or the front page of the local paper for something we can do ourselves."

Sam looked over his shoulder with disbelief. "Something we can do ourselves? Have you looked at yourself!"

Dean didn't say anything. He didn't need to. A lifetime spent together made his thoughts quite clear to his younger brother.

"Sammy…" The corners of Dean's eyes creased slightly – a soft, weary pleading. "Don't make me come up there and kick your butt."

With frustration, Sam acquiesced. His brother was right. They couldn't risk the local hospital. Ben had stocked them with medical supplies; Sam supposed he would have to be thankful and content with that.

---

In the motel, Sam helped his brother to one of the beds before grabbing their medical kit. Setting it on the opposite bed, he shuffled through its contents, scanning the amber-colored bottles until he found the two he needed. Taking out two pills, he handed them and a bottle of water to his brother. "Painkiller and antibiotic."

Dean tossed them both toward the back of his throat and swallowed a large mouthful of water. He closed his eyes for a moment, resting, before he pushed himself off the bed and limped toward the bathroom. "I need to clean up."

He gingerly stripped off the fabric that was stuck to his skin with congealed blood and tried his best to wash his wounds.

'_Another reason not to go to the hospital – they'd probably think they have to cut the clothes off.'_

Sam briefly squeezed into the small bathroom to gather some towels, moistening one with water. The preparation would allow some time for the painkiller to take affect.

Dean eventually hobbled back to the bed, positioning himself on the towels and strategically-placed suture kit drapes. Sam glanced over the scratches and bites and sighed to himself. Suturing each other up wasn't new. Suturing wounds that should have been **his**, however, gave Sam a weighted feeling in his chest. He did his best to push the guilt away and focus on helping Dean.

The talon scratches down the side of the thigh were still oozing blood and clear fluid when Sam pulled on a pair of latex gloves and gently used the moistened towel to clean around the wound, rinsing it with saline. He scooped up a plastic pouch from where he'd set out equipment on the second bed.

"Holy water...this might hurt." He liberally poured the fluid over the leg, generating a hiss and a few choice curses from Dean.

Sam picked up a pre-threaded needle from one of the two opened suture kits and concentrated on his work.

"And keep the stitches small," Dean ordered.

"This from the guy who's always saying chicks dig scars?"

"Just shut up and sew."

Minutes passed in silence, and while Sam hoped Dean's closed eyes signaled a relinquishing of consciousness to the painkiller, he knew where his brother's mind really was. The younger Winchester watched the tender edges of skin move with each gentle tug of needle and thread. He couldn't do much to soothe the physical pain, but if he could provide soothing words to alleviate any of the guilt that he knew Dean felt for Emily's death, it was something.

"Hey, about what happened with you and Dad…"

"Shut up, Sam." Despite the exhaustion setting in, Dean answered in a firm voice. He was not in the mood to have his feelings commandeered. Everything was too fresh and raw.

Sam continued, filled with conviction, but the focal figure was their father, John Winchester. "He should have listened to you. He never should have put you in that position." Sam had the simple-minded hope Dean would see that the blame did not rest in his character.

"All right, I get it." Dean found Sam's words immaterial. Two years ago in that small room he hadn't done what he should have; and tonight he hadn't been able to fix it. Fault, blame, responsibility – it had different names but, as he had with other events in his life, he would learn to carry it with him.

Sam tied off the first line of stitches and started on the next gash, finishing in silence. The forearm wound was next. He could do little for the four distinct punctures other than irrigating them with holy water, removing blood clots and covering the marks with bandages.

"You were-- I mean, **I** was lucky…guess the dog didn't like my taste too much."

Dean smirked. "Not even touching that one." His tired eyes followed what his brother was doing as Sam retrieved another pre-threaded suture needle.

The slices along the torso would take a little more finesse but Sam followed the same protocol as before, cleaning and purifying the unholy marks. The younger hunter took a moment to study his brother, reading him easily. There was doubt in Dean.

Sam could tell his brother had drifted into hindsight. Reliving what happened years ago, reviewing what happened an hour ago, and wondering what he could have done differently. Sam collected himself, refocused his attention and began to stitch.

"There isn't anyone else I would want by my side," Sam said plainly, needing to articulate his thoughts. He sought to liberate his brother, and to impress upon him how highly he was measured. "When it comes down to it, you always do what's right, Dean, always, that's the one thing I can trust."

"Jesus, Sammy, back off, would ya?" Dean grunted as if his brother's words were blasphemous.

Sam looked up, observing the man before him. Truly, there was no one finer, but Dean would never accept it. That was what made him a hero and a better person than most. Sam smiled, about to speak again, but chose to oblige his brother and said no more.

**TBC **

**please review **


	10. Chapter 10

**Authors' Notes:** Well, we finally finished it, and are happy with the finished product. We are also glad that it was finished before the season premiere. We may revisit this AU, but it wont be for a few months. Thank you for the kind notes and comments. Read on and please review!

Part 10

Sam dropped their bags into the trunk of the Impala and pushed the lid closed. Two days had passed and he'd managed to barter one free night of room and board by helping the owner's brother with some of the off-season repairs and clean-up.

Dean spent most of the time recuperating, thanks to, as Sam explained, a 'mountain biking accident'. Sam had kept half an eye on his brother and Dean had let him. The older Winchester rarely shared his emotions, but most of the time Sam knew what he was thinking, regardless.

Sam assumed his brother's most recent quiet mood arose from introspection and the human brain's acute attempt to process an unfair loss of life. The gravel of the driveway crunched under Sam's sneakers as he walked to where Dean sat on the hood of the car.

The heels of Dean's boots softly bumped the driver's side tire with an irregular beat and he didn't acknowledge his brother's presence. Only Sam was aware of the bandages and bruising under Dean's clothes that made his movements stiff and awkward. Sam leaned against the door, folded his arms, and stared in the same direction as Dean - across the street to the beach front and the hypnotic movement of the gray-green ocean.

Finally Sam spoke. "What we do, the hunt…Death is something that we're always going to see. Sometimes we're just lucky enough to be in the position to head it off."

Dean played with the keys to the Chevy before handing them to his brother. "I screwed up," he stated, keeping his eyes locked on the flickering whitecaps.

Sam shook his head, about to speak, but was derailed as Dean continued.

"I had it, Sammy. I had it right in the palm of my hand," Dean laughed softly, "literally." He held one hand up. "My one chance to do right by mom, and," he smiled sardonically, "follow dad's orders...and I screwed it up."

Dean pushed off the hood of the Impala, suddenly desiring space, and began walking toward the rocky beach across the road. It took Sam a moment to realize what his brother was talking about. When he did, it was as if a hand gripped his heart and squeezed tightly.

Dean had always done a good job of watching out for him, protecting him. Sam didn't understand how his brother couldn't see that. He followed Dean, catching him on the arm. Dean didn't turn around and Sam didn't try to face him.

"Jeezus, Dean, are you kidding me…you didn't screw up." Sam struggled to find the words for what he wanted his brother to understand. "I remember once when we were kids, Dad saying how much you were like Mom. She would have been proud of **everything** you've done."

Dean turned his head slightly, raised an eyebrow and allowed himself a hint of a grin.

"Okay," Sam recanted, "maybe not **everything**. But the fact that I'm here right now, man...You've managed to do that for a long time now, all on your own. No mojo required."

Dean looked again at the water, taking in the appreciation that Sam was trying to impart. He nodded but said nothing. There was some solace in knowing that Sam believed his brother could always watch out for him. Dean just wished he could believe it himself. He risked voicing the suspicion he'd harbored for the last day.

"Ya know, I think I can still heal you."

Sam hesitated briefly. Would Dean **ever **relinquish his role as protector?"But, you can't heal yourself, and I won't let you take that risk."

Dean didn't reply. Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, he walked towards the ocean. "I'll be back in a bit," he called over his shoulder.

Sam lifted himself onto the hood of the Impala, taking Dean's place, and relaxed back against the windshield. "I'll be here."

Dean couldn't prevent the small smile that raised the corners of his mouth. He knew his brother would be.

**The End**


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